


Innocence Died Screaming

by colorfulsounds_changingmoods



Category: Disney - Fandom, The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Blood and Injury, M/M, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5190980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorfulsounds_changingmoods/pseuds/colorfulsounds_changingmoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Basil Baker is an infamous art thief who takes up a membership at a local gym. With a trained assassin. </p><p>entirely self indulgent Basil/David Criminals!AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Innocence Died Screaming

Everything started and ended with David Dawson.

-

Basil wasn’t one for public spaces like that, but becoming too much of a recluse might place him in suspicious light. As an infamous art thief, he simply couldn’t have that. Well, he had to admit that the thought of running from such obvious danger was thrilling, but he didn’t _need_ it. Not yet. So he internalized his complaints and bought a membership to a gym in the town over. Not too far, but not too close.

Five days a week, he would do his time—show up at 7, work out, leave after a couple of hours. He kept to himself, save for the occasional brief conversation—always initiated by someone else and, in his opinion, quite unnecessary—and he was satisfied with that. It could have continued like so without any complaint on his part.

It _should_ have.

Unfortunately, things don’t often go the way he envisions them in his mind. Not when he arrives at 7 to find his usual spot in the locker room occupied by a stranger, and most certainly not when he sees that stranger’s face. Alarmingly pretty eyes that leave Basil slightly dumbfounded. And _oh_ —the rest of him...it was a little ridiculous, frankly, to look that good. But he wass all too aware that he has been staring for a second too long, so he straightened up, expression carefully blank.

“You’re in my spot,” was all that he said, watching as the other man raised an amused eyebrow, looking from the lockers back to Basil.

“Oh. Well, nobody told me? I could…move?” A voice to match his eyes, certainly. Steady and kind, and far too distracting. So distracting that Basil almost missed the point of the question, which was damn near unprecedented. As if _he_ missed _anything_.

“No. Don’t bother—it would hardly be worth it.” With far more drama than the situation called for, he sighed loudly and set his gym bag down a few feet away.

He hadn’t planned on talking any more, and he was in the process of opening a new locker when the stranger cleared his throat.

Pressing his lips together, Basil turned to look at him again—which was a mistake, considering he was now shirtless and _grinning_ like he had just thought up an award winning joke.

Basil didn’t even blink, though; only sighed again and asked, “ _Yes_?”

Laughing a little, the stranger shook his head— _what the hell was so funny_? “Do you have a name?”

“Of course I do. It would be rather preposterous if I didn’t.” Basil scoffed, tilting his chin slightly upwards in indignation. After a moment, he added, “Basil. And you are…?”

“David Dawson,” the other man just smiled, almost as if Basil’s antics didn’t surprise him in the least. “A pleasure.”

With a flash of a smirk, Basil shook his head and looked back at his locker. It was easier to focus that way. “Of course it is—you’re meeting _me_.”

“Well aren’t you a delight.” He didn’t sound angry or frustrated, just amused.

“No need to be redundant, Mr. Dawson,” Basil was smiling now, but to himself, where the other man could not see. “You’ll only serve to stroke my ego.”

David chuckled. “Couldn’t have that.”

“No,” Basil mused, retracting his smile and chancing a last glance at the other man. “We really couldn’t.”

-

Over the next three weeks, Basil only talked with David two more times. Once in order to ask about the facility’s scheduling, and once when they walked into the gym at the same time—it was nearly impossible to avoid _some_ sort of exchange when they all but walked into each other. There had been brief, a quick conversation about the difficulty of dragging themselves out of bed so early on a Tuesday morning, and that was that. Neither meant it and both knew it, but it was the first thing that had come to mind, so neither brought that fact to light.

The next time they spoke, it was on a Wednesday morning, four weeks and a day from when they had first met. Not that Basil was purposely counting; that was merely the sort of thing that one kept track of with an eidetic memory.

His limbs were sore as he moved through the weight room that morning, the events of the previous night having done a number on his physical wellness.

It hadn’t been a difficult heist—rather, it _shouldn’t_ have been, but he had nearly slipped up. He was too cocky, too damn certain that things couldn’t go wrong, and he had lingered a moment longer than he should have before making his escape. To say that he had hurled himself out of the second story window without grace would be an understatement, his collision with the landing below having proved that. In the end, he had made it out in one piece, the authorities still not having seen his face. The painting was currently sitting pretty in his flat, so he figured it hadn’t been a total bust.

But he was limping as he made his way across the room, a rolled ankle proving to be more of an inconvenience than he might have initially thought. Not for the first time that morning, he mentally cursed himself for breaking his injury-free record.

“You alright there, Basil?”

The familiar voice caught him off guard and he stopped walking (okay, it was a slight hobble, if he were to be brutally honest), turning around to find the man who had spoken.

“David.” He blinked dumbly, as if it had slipped his mind that David Dawson still attended this gym. As if he could forget a thing like that. “Ah—yes yes, perfectly alright.”

Not looking, for all intents and purposes, convinced, David cocked his head to the side. “You’re sure? People don’t usually wince like that for no reason.”

“Of course not; You certainly don’t.” It slipped out before he could think twice, and Basil was left to open and close his mouth like some breed of fish, eyes darting towards the ground. “Ah, that wasn’t…”

The amusement in David’s face was gone, replaced by something new. Still, it wasn’t anger. “…and what does that mean?”

“Oh. Your shoulder.” Basil looked carefully at the other man, expecting the usual angry outburst from someone who he had assumed something anout. Not like that was something he could help, really; he was only telling the truth.

David glanced quickly down at his shoulder, eyebrows knitting together. “But I don’t…I don’t make it obvious.” It didn’t exactly sound like a question, but he looked to Basil as if to reassure himself.

“No. No, not at all.” Basil nodded slowly, not sure why the anger had yet to sink in. “It isn’t. Obvious, I mean. I’m simply…hyper-observant. I know things—see things, rather.”

“Oh?” The other man looked somewhat relieved, albeit doubtful of Basil’s claim. “What sort of…things?”

It might not have been a challenge, but Basil certainly took it that way, shrugging his shoulders lightly. “Bullet wound to the shoulder. Permanent, I’m almost certain. Honorable discharge, surely—based on your nauseatingly strong moral compass.” A beat of silence and his eyes flickered up to meet David’s, worrying at his bottom lip. “Nightmares keep you. Likely PTSD.”

Another stretch of silence followed, this time even longer. It was enough to give Basil cause for walking out. Right then and there. Or maybe just cause to scream at the man, tell him to get on with it and call him a presumptuous asshole, but really- could he even _try_ to deny that Basil was wrong? And then David exhaled a shaky breath, mouth open in some mix of disbelief and confusion. “But how could you _possibly_ —”

“You flinch at the various metallic-based sounds, associated by some pattern in your subconscious with the sounds from the battlefield. Your eyes grow colder when you train long enough to drown out your surroundings, like you aren’t even here. The bags under your eyes are a dead giveaway for lack of sleep—nightmares were the most probable scenario.” Again, he shrugged, rubbing absentmindedly at the back of his neck.

Silence stretched on for what could have been a minute, before David’s soft voice shattered it again. “Unbelievable.”

Basil sighed, “There it is. Well, I suppose I should apologize for offending you; it was bound to happen at some-”

“What? No,” the other man cut him off, waving a hand needlessly. “I mean, none of that is _any_ of your damn business, and I’ll ask you not to…well, mention any of it again in _public_. But, you…you aren’t wrong.”

Looking apprehensive, the thief gave a slight nod. “Of course I’m not.”

“You…oh _God_ ,” David let out a shaky laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Yes, he did.

A ghost of a smile played at his lips, but it was gone just as quickly as it had come. Again, he shrugged. “I think I’ll interpret that as a compliment.”

“You would.”

-

_“—mysterious art thief left his mark in the heart of London this time, another magnifying glass found at the scene of the crime. Authorities are scrambling for excuses as to why this individual has yet to be caught. Fifteen robberies and not so much as single description to go off of; Is our police force incapable, or is this masked bandit just **that** good?”_

_-_

Another week passed before Basil saw David again. It was pointless to deny the need to count days anymore; it was no secret that he enjoyed the other man’s presence. Which, it went without saying, was an incredible feat, considering it had been years since he had met someone that was even remotely tolerable in his book. He could hardly help it if this man intrigued him.

They exchanged a look from across the room, but they didn’t speak. Not at first. They worked out in their own separate ways, Basil occasionally giving into the urge to glance over at the ex-soldier. An impulse that he could have easily fought off, certainly. Probably. Perhaps.

When David moved to the bench press, he threw in the towel and surrendered, walking over to the piece of equipment. “Too preoccupied to show up more than once every full moon?” He asked, the smirk just as obvious in his tone as it was on his face.

The smile which slipped onto David’s lips when he looked up at Basil was enough to knock the wind out of someone. Some else, of course. Not Basil. “Good to see you, too.” Bringing the weight back down, he sat up and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “What are you, the workout police?”

He couldn’t help it; he laughed. Sharp and short, more like a bark, but a laugh nonetheless. “Hardly—I could never be as embarrassingly incapable as our authorities.” Rolling his eyes, he leaned his shoulder against the wall. “I’m only curious. A curse, really.”

“Huh.” David seemed to think for a moment, before giving a half shrug. “Well, you’re observant, aren’t you? A god among men or whatever—prove it. Where have I been?”

That hadn’t been what the thief expected to hear in the _slightest_ , and the humor was wiped from his face. _Oh_. He was serious. Clearing his throat, Basil settled his gaze on the other man, eyes traveling slowly down his form. Shoulder seemed to be causing more grief than it had on previous days, so he deduced something physically exerting. Lack of sleep, but his eyes were not far off, like they were after nightmares. So something had kept him up.

His gaze stopped when he saw one of David’s hands, his breath catching in his throat. _Was that—_

_Blood. Underneath his fingernails._

Too many dangerous ideas flashed across his mind, so he assumed it was his own lack of sleep talking, and lifted his gaze back to meet the other pair of waiting eyes. “Must be off my game today. A rare situation, I assure you.”

A laugh. “Right. Consider me less than impressed.”

Basil let out some strangled sound of protest, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well I would like to see _you_ try, if you’re so high and mighty.”

“Me? Alright.” The ex-soldier smiled easily. “I can’t tell you what you’ve done, but I think I could tell you what you’re about to do.”

Oh Christ. Son of a—had he been wasting his time on someone who believed in _superstition_?! Fortune telling?! And to think this man made him _smile_. Well, he _used to_.

Basil was two seconds away from leaving the gym and never coming back when David continued, catching his attention. “You’ll go to lunch with me.”

A series of things happened then. Basil’s disgust faded into nothing, but surprise was quick to follow. Was he…? Asking Basil to lunch? “Will I?” He couldn’t help it; it was in his nature to issue a challenge. So he raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth fighting to tug upwards. “And, pray tell, how could you know that?”

“Easy. No one turns down my requests for food.” Oh _,_ David was meeting his unspoken challenge with such ease that it took everything for Basil not to grin.

“Can’t see why they would.” Basil wished there had been more of a joking tone when he said that, but who was he kidding—it wasn’t exactly a lie.

A wide beam broke out across David’s face then. Basil wanted to tell him to tone it down—he felt like he was looking directly into the goddamn sun. Where were his sunglasses? “So, I’m busy today, but what about tomorrow?”

Was he really doing this? This wasn’t like him at all, and what if it ruined what tolerance he had for this man? Oh, to hell with it. “Tomorrow.”

-

The following morning went by far too slowly for his liking. David wasn’t at the gym, so Basil was left to believe that they would meet at the restaurant. The one that the other man had selected was only a few blocks away—a simple sandwich shop. Nothing special, but if that was the case then why was he looking forward to it?

He thought about texting to confirm their time, but the more logical part of him warned against that. He didn't want to come off as impatient or desperate- he didn't wear either too well.

The fact that he could simply _text_ David now felt a little strange. The day before, just after deciding on the restaurant, Dawson had taken Basil’s phone and added himself as a contact. After they had gone their separate ways, the briefest of conversations had occurred, but Basil had smiled for nearly fifteen minutes afterward.

-

_Sent 12:08 pm: Basil Baker. –BB_

**Received** **12:10 pm: Thanks! I was worried you wouldn’t give me yours haha**

_Sent 12:30 pm: Its a miracle. –BB_

**Received 12:34 pm: That’s one word for it :p**

_Sent 12:43 pm: Oh god. You text like an adolescent girl. –BB_

_Sent 12:44 pm: I withdraw my acceptance of your invitation –BB_

**Received 12:50 pm: Nope. You already said yes ;)**

_Sent 12:57 pm: A mistake. –BB_

**Received 1:06 pm: Nah.**

**Received** **1:10 pm: Need to get going. Talk to you tomorrow!**

**-**

At eleven, Basil made his way back to his flat and opted to take a quick shower. After putting on some slacks and a casual button up, he walked down the street to the restaurant. Like he had imagined, it was small and simple. Probably far from memorable.

The man who stood outside the door, managing to look both put together and casual, was exactly the opposite. He waved Basil over, making some comment about prefect timing, and the thief found himself fighting another smile.

They talked about the smaller things—childhood, family (neither was too keen on the subject, so that was only a brief mention), jobs. Apparently, David worked at a local hospital. Basil could have picked that out by the way his hands were always so inexplicably steady. Not that he spent copious amounts of time staring at the man’s hands.

Then they were laughing, joking as if they had been doing this dance for years. They clicked.

The conversation was easy, with almost a familiar feeling that left Basil wanting more. He had always been greedy when it came to a good thing, but this felt different. Like something he didn’t want to mess up.

So as they waved and departed, he thought that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t a terrible idea at all. Maybe it was a _brilliant_ idea.

-

Lunch became a sort of tradition after that first time. When they started, it was twice a week. After they finished working out, they would head out for a bit, usually head to their simple sandwich shop. _Their_. That word felt too sentimental for Basil’s liking, but he thought that perhaps he could grow accustomed to it.

Then it was three times a week, and they were both prioritizing lunch above most else in their schedules. Not that either minded. It was nice—more than nice, actually. Time always felt like it moved a little quicker when they were together, and that was a welcome change. The smiles were welcome, too.

Sometimes they would stop by Basil's flat afterwards, lay back on his couch and watch terrible reality television. He found that David was far more entertaining than any show they came across, what with the way he invested himself in something so trivial. The other man's comments had him laughing more often than he cared to admit.

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel as if he were suffocating. He could _breathe_ again.

“—we had a limited number of nurses on call, so I had to step in—” Dawson was in the middle of telling him about the hospital the night before, his chair tipped back as he spoke. It was always fascinating to hear David talk. Fascinating, a word which he used to describe very little. “—don’t think I’ve ever wanted a break this badly in all my life.”

Basil shook his head, eyeing the last French fries on his plate. “And you deserve one. They all but work you to death.”

A warm looked crossed David’s face, then. The one that he tended to have whenever Basil said anything that wasn’t dripping in sarcasm. The one that made his stomach do an odd flip. “I think I could use a good night of kicking back. Maybe a nice dinner.”

“Mhmm.” He set down the fry, leaning back in his chair.

“And someone to relax _with_ me…”

There was a funny tone to his voice, but Basil shrugged it off, reaching up to stretch his arms out above his head. “Sure, sure.”

David laughed. “Great. You’ll come over tonight, then?”

He paused mid-stretch, blinking rapidly as he looked over at his friend. “I’m—I, what?”

The laughter only continued, David clutching at his chest. “Oh wow, I wish I had a picture of that face. That’s a good look for you, Basil.”

Still not quite comprehending the initial statement, Basil dropped his arms. “I’m…coming over? To _your_ place? Tonight?”

 “Unless you’re too busy, yes.” David looked like he was contemplating saying something else, but he seemed to change his mind, shrugging instead.

Basil felt his chest grow a little tighter, but he tried not to pay that any mind. Having a friend—well, that was what he was electing to call this—was new to him. All of this was, in truth. Outwardly, he didn’t react. Just pretended to think for a moment, then nodded. “No…no, I don’t believe that will conflict with anything.”

“Great.” David stood, grinning at Basil with that blinding smile that always left him a little breathless. An effect which he loathed, he might add. “I’ll text you the address. You can head over any time after five.”

He looked at Dawson for a long moment then, expression carefully blank before he spoke. “Fine.”

-

Five and a half hours later, Basil stood in the entryway of an unfamiliar flat in London, a fifteen minute drive from his own. It was a nice size—one bedroom, one bath, a sitting area, and a kitchen. There wasn’t too much in terms of decoration, but a handful of photographs were scattered across one wall. Everything was meticulously organized, but he had already known that. A soldier and a surgeon—that was a recipe for extreme neatness.

There was an odd atmosphere to the place, almost like it didn’t belong to anyone. David _had_ mentioned spending a great deal of nights away or at the hospital, so he supposed that might be why.

Currently, Basil sat on the couch, eyes drifting from one object to another as he took in the details. David stood in the kitchen, finishing up some sort of pasta dish—Basil had objected immediately when he learned that his friend planned to cook for the two of them, saying that it wasnt necessary, but David hadn’t heeded a word of it. Who was surprised, really.

Growing restless, Basil stood and moved into the kitchen, gaze still catching on this and that. “Would someone typically offer…er, help? Should I do that?”

David laughed, looking over his shoulder at Basil from where he stood at the stove. “They might, yeah. You’re alright, though; I don’t even know if you _can_ cook.”

An offended snort followed that comment, Basil pulling a face. “Well I’ll have you know I’m a perfectly adequate chef, thank you very much.”

“Mhmm.” David grinned knowingly, turning away again to tend to the pasta. “And what can you cook?”

“Hm. Well…” Basil frowned in thought, eyebrows scrunching together. What _could_ he cook? What did he _eat_? Quite honestly, the days all blended together. In fact, if it weren’t for David and their lunches, he might not eat at all. That probably should have been a more worrying thought than it was. “Toast?” He phrased it more like a question than he very well should have, head tilting a little to the side.

“ _Toast_?” David was laughing again, shaking his head in wonderment. “How you manage to survive on your own, we’ll never know.”

The taller man rolled his eyes, but couldn’t bring himself to put together a heated response to that. “A miracle, I suppose.”

That got David to look at him, throwing another glance over his shoulder, a small smile sitting on his lips. “Yeah, I s’pose so.”

They stayed like that for a long minute, just watching each other in comfortable silence. It felt like something Basil could have let himself get lost in, but for that very same reason, it was terrifying.

He was the first to look away, of course, running a hand through his hair restlessly. “I could get plates?”

“Oh. Yeah, that’d be great. Upper left cupboard.” David gestured with a nod in its direction, and Basil retrieved two plates from inside. He set them down next to the stove, looking with admiration at the almost-finished meal. Food was usually something that Basil never harbored any strong feelings for, typically because he _forgot_ to eat, but even he had to admit that it smelled _incredible_.

Moving a little out of Dawson’s space, he took a moment to unbutton his sleeves and roll them up. The need to be formal around David was far gone, and he found himself silently grateful for that.

David moved to fetch spices from the other side of the kitchen and basil leaned back against the counter, resting his elbows atop its surface. This was nice. Really nice, and ‘nice’ wasn’t a word he used to describe any aspect of his life. Not in the past.

Smiling to himself, he looked over at his friend, distantly admiring the way the light was catching his jaw. He really was unlike anyone else. Everything from is words to that damned irrepressible smile had Basil feeling like he was _breathing,_ not just gasping for air.

“What are you looking at?”

It took him a moment to realize that David had spoken, and he blinked away the haze. He thought about denying it, but stopped himself, smirking instead. “You're amusing when you’re concentrating on something.”

“Amusing…? Oh, well, _always_ happy to entertain.” David chuckled, rolling his eyes. He turned the stove off and looked back at Basil, pausing for a moment. His expression was soft, and softer still in the dim kitchen light. Basil might have liked to stay like that for the rest of his life, if it were at all feasible to do so.

“Now _you’re_ staring.” He pointed out quietly, not bothering to move just yet.

David didn’t look embarrassed; he only gave a halfhearted shrug, smiling a little crookedly. “Maybe I am.”

It wasn’t anything at all, but it made Basil’s heart falter—which was _far_ from logical, he thought distantly. Actually, that should have been medically concerning, not endearing. If this were any other night, with anyone else, he likely would have stopped this right then. Stood and excused himself for the night, pushed himself away with distance. But something was compelling him so strongly to _stay_ , so he did just that.

Not budging at all, Basil raised a delicate eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. “You haven’t stopped, you know.”

“Yeah, I’m well aware.” The doctor returned the smile, voice growing a touch quieter. “But, uh, you haven’t either.”

“ _Really_ now? I feel I’ve been caught. Drat.” Basil leaned his head back dramatically, letting it fall against the cupboard behind him with a light thud. Still, he didn’t take his eyes off of the other man, watching as his smile faltered.

“Basil…”

He waited to hear more from David, and when he didn’t, Basil lifted his head from where it rested to get a better look at his friend. “Hm? Something the matter?”

David shook his head again, as he had done so many times before, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“ _This_ , being me?” Basil grinned, more pleased with himself than he ought to be. “Oh, something brilliant, I’m sure.”

“Uh-huh…or something terrible, more likely.” There wasn’t any backing to the quip, and the ex-soldier sighed, before throwing his hands up in the air and taking two steps forward.

Basil hardly had time to process what was happening before a hand was reaching around to the back of his neck, pulling him forward. Only inches apart, David paused, as if waiting for Basil to push him away.

But the second it clicked, what was about to happen, Basil shut down that possibility—like hell he would back away. He surged forward, pressing his lips to David’s with more force than necessary, his eyes fluttering closed. It was too eager and not enough for either of them, but neither pulled away. Basil slid one hand around to the small of Dawson’s back, pulling him closer for a second kiss. And a third. Each grew less sloppy and a little slower, giving them both more time to adjust. He felt Dawson sigh against his mouth, and Basil’s knees grew weaker. Distantly, he was grateful for the one hand still gripping the ledge of the counter for support.

When David pulled back, before it could go any further, they were both breathless, staring back at each other with flushed cheeks. They were quiet for a moment, and Basil wasn’t at all certain of what to say. Nevertheless, there was something about getting the last word in that was far too tempting for Basil, so he shattered the silence.

“About damn time,” it was only a murmur, and he smirked at the look of bewilderment which crossed David’s face in turn.

“Oh—would you just—” The doctor groaned, and Basil had to try _very_ hard not to let that send shivers down his spine. “Do you _always_ have something to say?”

Basil chuckled, low in his throat. “Mm, I should think so.”

David opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it, instead leaning forward to kiss Basil again. This time, neither did anything to stop the kiss from growing heated, Basil’s hands working their way into the doctor’s hair.

When he accidentally pulled on it, David _whined_ , a downright sinful sound that had Basil melting in an instant. In retaliation, David bit down on his bottom lip, tugging gently when the taller man shivered. Basil tried to press himself closer, but before he could, the other man was pulling back.

He opened his eyes to see a wide grin lighting up David’s features, and it took every ounce of dignity for Basil not to groan and lean forward again. It occurred to him that he probably looked far less put together than he might have liked. It felt too vulnerable, but he fought the urge to look away. Or maybe he _couldn’t_ look away—that was to be determined.

“Still have something to say?” David’s words were an amused murmur, his grin remaining intact as he trailed his fingers idly down Basil’s chest, stopping to rest his palm over his heart.

All Basil could manage was a noncommittal hum, which was thoroughly disappointing. He likely would have had a witty comeback for that, if he could actually string proper words together. Honestly, there was no viable reason to explain why one man should be able to jumble his thoughts. His always clear, always alert train of thought.

But then David was laughing again, something low and a little scratchy, but so purely _joyous_ that Basil could have forgotten all about being disappointed in himself. In wonder, he thought that David’s laugh might just be the best sound to ever reach his ears. Another ridiculous thought, but he minded it a little less.

Then Basil was laughing, too. Not so loud and not without restraint, but he was laughing nonetheless. He smiled crookedly at the doctor pressed up against him, happiness reaching his eyes for the first time in a while. _A miracle_. “Oh-ho, you think you’re clever?” He shook his head, dragging his own fingers lightly up and down David’s back.

“A _genius_ ,” David confirmed with a note of glee, before dipping to press another quick kiss to Basil’s lips. “Find something that says otherwise?”

“Yes,” Basil suddenly looked a little smug, glancing over David’s shoulder at the stove. “Our dinner is starting to get cold.”

The doctor rolled his eyes but seemed to remember himself, taking a reluctant step backwards. “And who’s fault is that? I think I can recall something distracting me.”

“Can you?” Basil feigned innocence as David disentangled himself and walked over to start on their plates, dividing up the dish as he continued to laugh. “Faulty memory, I suppose. I wouldn’t worry too much—happens to the best of us.”

“You’re a riot.”

“True. Moreso than 'distracting', anyhow.” Basil added with a smirk, making a decision against his better judgement and moving to stand behind David, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist. He pressed a few kisses to the back of his neck, and then tilted his head so that his lips brushed the doctor’s ear. “Ludicrous accusations, truly.”

David made a breathy noise and leaned back, tilting his head to look at Basil. “Uh huh. Not true at all.” When Basil grinned, the doctor laughed and gently nudged him backwards. “Come on, Basil—move. We aren’t going to get to dinner if you keep doing that.”

“Hm, decisions…” Basil pretended to think. “Alright. I’ll behave.”

And David was laughing again as he moved their plates to the table, shaking his head. “Now _that_ would be one hell of a miracle.”

-

_“—two members of parliament were found dead outside of an apartment complex. Both were confirmed to have been shot in the head just over one hour ago. Neighbors did not report any disturbance, which is certainly throwing the investigation for a loop. Authorities have yet to identify the killer, but they have identified the same gun to have been used on both victims. What’s more—both were previously rumored to have been involved in illicit drug movements. We can officially say that this is no longer a rumor, but a confirmed event. Their families have been notified, but it does not appear that anyone knew of their involvement in such activities. More on this story at eight.”_

-

Basil stretched out across his sofa, eyes closed as he listened to the drones of the news. Nothing stuck out, save for the murdered parliament members. But that was quite obviously the same culprit as the recent murder of three London-based CEOs a couple weeks prior. Whoever was doing this must have had some sort of vendetta against people who went against the law—the CEOs had been involved in a human trafficking ring, much to the public’s surprise—though, Basil found it amusing that this supposed ‘vigilante’ was trying to correct a wrong with another wrong. Not that he was exactly one to talk, what with the million dollar paintings that decorated his walls. Still, he liked to think that thievery was a step down from murder. Or was it up? Regardless, he could appreciate a little murder now and again, when it was ‘for a good cause’. It became more of an art, in some abstract way; he could get on board with that.

He would have been perfectly content to lay like that all night, except someone had picked that particular moment to call him. Groaning, he fumbled for the television remote and hit the mute button, pulling his phone from his pocket with a frown.

 _Oh_. His frown faded and he accepted the call without another moment of hesitation, suddenly far less inconvenienced by the interruption.

“Evening, Dawson.”

“Basil.” The voice on the other end of the line sounded strained, and the thief tensed, eyebrows knitting together.

“What’s wrong?” It wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t exactly harsh. Just a question.

A shaky laugh sounded from the other end, followed by a sharp gasp. “ _Ah_ —so observant. _Fuck_. Could you—?”

When David paused and didn’t continue, Basil stood up. “Could I what? Are you still there?”

“Ah, shit. Yeah, sorry—dropped the towel I’m using. Just- just, come over, please? I…yeah.” David hissed again, and Basil was already putting on shoes and snatching his keys.

“On my way. Whatever you did, I’m certain it was stupid.”

Another shaky laugh. “Thanks for the— _ah_ —vote of, of confidence.”

-

It took Basil no longer than six minutes to drive over, despite the traffic that very well should have stopped him. But the only person he gave a damn about was asking for help for the first time in the months that they had known each other, and that warranted the breaking of a few laws. Who needed speed limits, anyway?

He hadn’t hesitated to use the spare key David had given him, all but slamming the door behind him as he looked around for the doctor. Who, as it turned out, was sitting on the kitchen floor, two bloody towels pressed against his abdomen. A cut ran from his eye down the side of his face, but at least that looked dry now.

Doing his best to think with a level head, he looked around. “First aid kit?”

David, who was very obviously trying not to let his face contort in pain, pointed to the bathroom. Quickly, Basil followed the direction to retrieve the kit, pleased to find that it was by no means small. He had the feeling major injuries weren’t all that rare in his doctor’s case.

Kit in hand, he moved back to kneel beside the other man, eyes moving from his face to his stomach. “May I…?” He let his hands over above David’s until the man nodded carefully, moving the towel so that he could see.

“ _Jesus_ ,” He hadn’t meant to sound so shocked, so he quickly snapped his mouth shut, looking back up at David. “Hospital?”

“ _No! N-”_ the doctor cut himself off with a gasp, wincing in pain. “No hospitals. Need you to fix it.” He grit out through clenched teeth, then looked to Basil with what could have easily been doubt. Almost like he didn’t expect Basil to take his request into account.

It occurred to him then that David didn’t really have a good reason to trust him. He had called Basil here with the hope that he would stitch him up without going to a doctor for help, and the weight of that felt significant. Truthfully, he wasn’t a doctor. He didn’t do this sort of thing on a daily basis, and they were likely minutes away from someone who could actually do this _well_. That would be so much easier.

But he knew all too well that sometimes, hospitals had to be avoided. Things were documented that way. So he only nodded, already busying himself by picking out supplies from the kit. Without another word, he went about cleaning the wound, admittedly having done it a time or two for himself when things had gotten out of hand. He tried to work quickly, thinking as objectively as he could possibly manage. The second he thought of this person as _David_ _Dawson_ , someone that he _cared about_ , he was almost certain that his hands would start to shake. So he kept emotion out of it, drawing a deep breath before he started to sew up the gaping hole in the other man’s stomach.

Aside from David’s heavy breathing and occasional gasp or groan, it was silent. Not a word passed between them as Basil’s steady hands worked. And only when he was done, the bleeding finally having come to a stop, did he actually let himself _breathe_.

He let his head fall forward, eyes sliding shut. He wasn’t even the one with the injury, but hell if he didn’t feel exhausted. It felt like the aftershocks of being afraid, which was something he _actively_ tried to avoid. For this very reason—the shaky, vulnerable, tired feeling that swept his whole body.

After a long moment, he took a deep breath and moved again, getting another damp towel to clean up the remaining blood on David. Basil patted his skin with gentle touches, frequently looking up at the doctor’s face to make sure he wasn’t causing any additional pain.

When most of the blood was gone, Basil sat back on his heels, dropping the towel to the floor beside him. He stared at David then, not wanting to push for answers that the doctor might not be willing to give.

“Thank you.” It was no more than something mumbled, but it was enough to break whatever thick silence had fallen over the two of them.

The taller man nodded once. “Of course. For you, anything.” He blinked a few times then, surprised with his own honesty. Well, there was a chance that he wasn’t being as objective as he had thought.

“Oh.” David seemed taken aback as well, but the corner of his mouth quirked upwards, ever so slightly. Then it was gone again, and he was drawing a ragged breath. “It was a knife.”

Again, Basil nodded. Only this time, he let his face soften before he replied. “You needn’t say anything. I won’t ask questions.”

Something crossed David’s face then, and Basil felt it pull at his heart. He almost looked...sad. “I know. _God_ —I know. Not sure I deserve that, after pulling you in here. But…” He let his head fall back against the wall. “I want to tell you. I need to.”

“Okay.” He waited then, with every bit of patience that he never used, and listened.

“Okay.” David repeated, swallowing thickly. “Have you seen the news today?” He waited for Basil to nod before continuing. “The two parliament members—they were killed. But one of them…someone must have tipped the bastard off. He knew it was coming, so he had a knife. He fought back. Tried to, at least.”

There was something of a pause then, and Basil’s whole body froze. _Oh_. _Oh no_. _Was he saying…?_ Oh, that was _exactly_ what he was saying. One of those men had taken a knife to David in self-defense, because _David was the goddamn infamous killer in the news_. _Murderer. He killed people. David ‘sunshine and puppies’ Dawson was a trained killer._

Except, that wasn't really much of a surprise, in the grand scheme of things. He had killed people in war, hadn't he? The progression made sense, to the best of his knowledge. A failed attempt at adjusting to civilian life, and the man had probably sought out other ventures. Something where he could apply his skills. Okay, so there was probably a logical explanation, but  _hell_ , that didn't make the truth any less heavy.

Basil opened his mouth and closed it again, then did that twice more, words glued to his tongue. What did he want to say? What was he _supposed_ to say? Or do, for that matter.

“Basil?” David’s voice was small, nothing like you would expect from a killer. “Please, just…just say something. _Please_.”

Finally, Basil leveled the other man with a stare. “What are you?”

David looked pained. “I think you know very well _what I am_ now—”

“No,” Basil cut him off sharply, then winced inwardly and lowered his voice. “That isn’t what I mean. Are you for hire? Is it for your _enjoyment_?”

“Something unforgivable,” Basil finished, before letting out a hallow shell of a laugh. “What irony. So this is what you did after the war? Couldn’t live without it?”

“There’s more to it than that and you know it.” David looked like he wanted to keep arguing, but he stopped himself, letting his gaze drop to his lap instead. After another beat, he spoke again, softly. “Go ahead and turn me in, then. Not like I can run.”

At that Basil _did_ laugh, which made David’s head snap up, confusion sweeping his face. “Turn you in? Oh, Dawson—I would be a fool to do that. Even if I could, I don’t think I would _want_ to.” And he meant it. Maybe that meant he was out of his mind, for not really minding the idea of associating with a _murderer_ , but just like before, he wasn’t too bothered by whatever self-righteous ideas were rolling around in his doctor’s head.

“Even…what, what do you mean, ‘ _if you could’_?” David stared at him like he might as well have been speaking Russian, and Basil found it easier to relax that way—when Dawson wasn’t looking at him like a kicked puppy.

“You of all people know that I’m not very good at following rules. I couldn’t chance someone looking into that. No no—too much of a risk.”

“Of a…? Basil, what the hell? Are you trying to rub this in? Make me feel _worse_?”

Oh, that wasn’t how he was supposed to take it _at all_. That was supposed to make him feel better, not isolated. Frowning, Basil let out an impatient sigh. “Oh of all the—stop pitying yourself. I’m a thief, David. Not exactly favored by the law, either. There, I’ve spelled it out for you. Do stop looking at me like that, I fear your face will stick that way.”

 “God, do you _always_ have to be a complete asshole?” David rolled his eyes, but looked slightly less upset. The confusion lingered, though. “A thief. And you steal, what—chemistry sets from children?”

Basil glared, an indignant noise slipping past his lips. “Art, actually. No doubt you've seen the stories.”

Another beat of silence, and David tilted his chin upwards, his expression calculating. “You steal art. You’re an art theif. That Art theif.”

“Brilliantly done. Do let me know when your award shows up for solving that grand mystery.” It was perhaps a little colder than he would have usually meant it, but the events of the night were finally starting to wear at his patience.

“Oh shut up.” It wasn’t quite as harsh, but they had yet to reach kind words. “And where is it all? Have you got a massive warehouse stacked with paintings?”

Basil actually smirked at that, gaze still hard. “I have several hanging on the walls of my flat, actually. You’ve seen those. The rest are hidden—various locations which I’m afraid I won’t disclose. Forgive me for not trusting you.” Except he didn’t mean that. Not by a long shot. If anything, he trusted this man more than he trusted _himself._ What that said about Basil, he didn't want to know.

David narrowed his eyes. “Not sure you can use that anymore. You’re not exactly above the law, either, Basil.”

Leaning forward a little, Basil wiped the expression from his face and wound up to throw a final blow. “You kill people. I steal paintings. Rethink that.”

At that, David’s front of defensiveness fell apart, shoulders sagging and head falling. He didn’t say anything, and Basil wondered if he thought that there was nothing left to add. Which there was, because, for whatever reason, Basil's anger was dissipating. 

“ _David_.” Punctuating his name, Basil lifted two fingers beneath the other man’s chin, tilting his head back up. “What you do is by no means _good_. Its unforgivable according to some, justice according to others. I, on the other hand, don’t really give a damn one way or the other. I’m nonbiased towards your…career. What I _am_ biased towards is _you_.” He watched as David’s eyes widened, but barreled on before he could decide that he was far too attached to this man and bailed on the situation all together. “And I, well, I happen to like you. I don’t do that— _this_ , ever. So, I’m accepting this. Not overlooking— _accepting_.”

He fell silent after that, the weight of his own words hitting him hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. Saying that aloud had felt oddly like ripping out a vital organ and tossing it aside, and Basil found himself staring at the doctor with bated breath. _Fuck. Forget ‘crush’, this was much worse._

“So…,” David’s voice was breathy, and he looked almost like he was trying to solve a puzzle in his head—Basil was torn between thinking it was endearing and growing irritated with him for it—but the pieces seemed to be clicking into place. “Uh, what exactly is… _this_?”

“Oh.” Basil sat back a little, eyes growing softer. He felt ridiculous now, but he hadn’t really thought that part through. He and Dawson weren’t _something_ , per se. Well, they _were_ , but it didn’t feel like something that he could slap a label on. Last week, they had kissed before dinner, and once afterwards, before Basil had left. Now, he had stitched David up on his kitchen floor and all but sworn on his life not to inform the cops that this man was a hired assassin. And perhaps there was far too much that they still didn’t know about one another, but Basil felt like he had known this man for _years_ , and hell if that wasn’t something to fight for. 

The last thing they needed was a lie, so he bit his lip, shaking his head with a miniscule movement. “I don’t know, Dawson.”

The doctor looked thoughtful, drawing a deep breath. “Well, what do _you_ want?”

Another question he wanted to run from, so he tried to look at it logically. At least, that was the plan. Then he made the mistake of meeting David’s eyes, and the sheer amount of fondness written there was enough to derail that train in an instant. “To stay.”

It obviously wasn’t what David was expecting, because his eyebrows shot up. It wasn’t what Basil was expecting himself to say either, to be perfectly fair. Then David was smiling, soft and warm, and everything that they had been lacking since the start of that evening. “Okay.”

It didn’t really answer any questions, but it was better. A step in the right direction. 

Basil felt a faint smile echo on his own lips, and the tension from their previous conversation started to fall off in waves. “We’re terrible.” His tone was lighter, but there wasn’t any doubt as to whether or not he meant it.

“The worst.” But David was grinning now, reaching forward and—

“ _Oh fuck. Ow—fucking hell—”_ the slew of curses flew from his mouth when he tried to sit forward, hand flying to his side.

Basil didn’t even jolt. Just sighed and rolled his eyes, dragging a hand down his face. “Impossible. You’re insufferable.” Then he was moving to pick David up—one arm behind his back and the other underneath his knees—standing up with only some difficulty. He ignored the meek protests, careful not to touch the doctor’s stomach as he walked into the bedroom and laid him gently on the bed. “There, now you don’t have to move.”

“I take it all back. _We_ are not the worst; _you_ are.” There probably should have been some ice behind those words, but David just looked a mix of tired and grateful, breathing a little heavier as he shifted into a more comfortable position on one side of the bed. Carefully, he stripped himself of his dirty clothing and directed Basil to his dresser, where he pulled out a clean shirt and boxers. Basil did his part not to look, as tempting as it was, and he wondered if maybe he might actually be somewhat well behaved after all.

Then he looked at David, yawning with messy hair and a goddamn Star Wars shirt, of all things, and the thoughts which crossed his mind were too far from innocent for that previous statement to be accurate _at all_.

It only took another minute of continuous whining before David was settled into bed, looking up at him with more contentment than someone who had just recently been stabbed should probably feel. “Thank you, Basil.” And _hell_ , it wasn’t even an afterthought. He was being genuine and grateful and so disgustingly _David_ that Basil had to resist throwing a pillow at him.

Running a hand through his hair, Basil smiled down at the other man. He could only manage a small hum, but he figured that was close enough. “I’ll clean up before I leave—”

“What happened to staying?” David had cut him off before he could get another word in, glancing not-so-subtly at the empty spot in the bed beside him.

He blinked a few times, pleasantly taken aback. “You…you’re certain?”

“No, I’m pulling your leg. Just wanted to see what would happen.” David shook his head and grinned, patting the bed carefully. “Come on, Basil. I don’t think I’ll stay awake long enough to argue with you.”

For a moment he only stood there, regulating his breathing as he tried not to let a wide smile overtake his features. He didn’t say anything as he unbuttoned his pants and slid them off, reaching over to hit the light switch. Careful not to bump David, he crawled into bed beside him, doing his best to ignore the light flutter in his stomach. This was nice. This was _so_ nice, and he was so very certain that he had done absolutely nothing to deserve a moment that felt as beautiful as this did. Still, he wasn’t about to question his luck.

His eyes were only just starting to close when David spoke, his voice soft. “We’ll figure this out.”

Basil couldn’t tell if it was a question or a promise, but it sounded more like the latter. He hoped it was the latter. “Mm. ’course.” He mumbled in response, turning with some effort onto his side to face David.

The picture there caught him off guard.

His doctor was already looking at him, the most hopeful smile on his face, light from the moon outside just barely peeking through the window to illuminate one side of his face. “Yeah?”

Slowly, Basil lifted a hand to trace the lines of his face, fingertips barely brushing skin as he moved from David’s temple to his jaw, and faintly across his lips. “Mhmm.” He leaned forward to press a barely-there kiss to those lips, then settled back on his own side. “Sleep, Dawson.”

There was hardly even a murmur of agreement before he was asleep, chest rising and falling slowly. Two minutes later, and Basil followed suit.

-

That night, neither woke from nightmares.

-


End file.
